“God bless America

Land that I love,

Stand beside her,

And guide her … ”

We were on a small luxury cruise ship on the Nile River. It was Oct. 8, 2001, less than a month after 9-11. During an evening social gathering in the lounge, one of the travelers was asked to sing. Without a moment’s hesitation, she began, “God bless America … ” While the Egyptian waiters watched, we all stood, and with tears in our eyes, we sang together that familiar old tune. I know that for the rest of my life, when I hear it, I will remember that moment and the tragic experience that preceded it.

When the twin towers collapsed, the Pentagon was hit and the other plane crashed in Pennsylvania, America and most of the world watched with disbelief.

Over and over again, we learned how vulnerable we are, and how little it takes to shake our very foundations.

It was only a month later when our small group of American tourists shared the beautiful words of that song, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the Egyptian staff was thinking. They had treated us as very special guests, and if 9-11 had never happened, the trip would have been one of secure comfort and adventure.

Most of the passengers had questioned taking that trip that had been planned months in advance. When we met, individually and as a group, invariably the first conversation went something like this. “Wow. We are really here. Did you ever question? What did your family think? When did you really decide to do it? Are you scared? My kids think that I am crazy. My wife stayed home. She didn’t dare come,” and “They all said that they are praying for our safe return.”

Now I must qualify these statements. We were not in a war zone. We were not in the military. We were tourists. But we had learned, as we got to know each other, that our group was actually less than half the number that had earlier made reservations. The others had decided that times were too precarious to risk traveling. I don’t know if that made the rest of us brave or crazy or maybe a little of both.

Terrorism was not new. In 1997 at the beautiful tomb of Egyptian Queen Hatshepsut, terrorists had opened fire on a group of Swiss tourists and more than thirty innocent people were killed. In those intervening years, we had read of many similar experiences and threats, but none of them were so close to home.

Where am I going with these thoughts? For almost as long as I can remember, I’ve loved exploring history and it has taught me just how lucky I am to be an American.

– I have met the great-great-grandson of a Scottish immigrant who survived the Revolutionary War when his older brothers told him to hide in a hollow tree trunk as they went into battle.

– I have discovered a beautiful tea service made by Paul Revere that is now in the collection of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.

– I have learned about the Native Americans who fought so hard to preserve their culture and are still struggling to hold on to their traditions.

– I have listened to a Southern belle from Atlanta, Georgia who hates the thought that she is living in a house that was built by carpetbaggers.

– I truly appreciate the museum volunteer who shared with us his World War II shipboard experience of watching his buddy die.

– I am trying to understand the friends who don’t talk about their experiences in Korea or Vietnam and the relatives who, from their posts in England, supported the bombing missions over Iraq.

History is people – wise and stupid, bold and timid, neighbors and strangers, loving and hating.

I do know that on this Memorial weekend, the words of that song hold more meaning for me than they ever have:

” …

From the mountains,

To the prairies,

To the oceans,

White with foam,

God bless America,

My home, sweet home.

God bless America,

My home, sweet home.”

Bev Jackson is the executive director of the Freeborn County Historical Museum.